My Heroine. My Heart. My Hanah.


My firstborn turns 22 today.  I was only a few months older than she when I endured  24 hours (cue: mom guilt) of labor bringing her into this world.  I did everything in my power to have her before midnight, as I could not imagine the teasing she would endure had she been born on April 1st.  Thankfully, she arrived just after 10 p.m that night.

I know it is a cliché, but it is true – the moment our eyes locked  – I was forever changed. She would go on to teach me patience.  She helped me grow up and become selfless.  She taught me a love I never knew existed.

The years passed and my little “Monchichi”, as we called her turned into a little princess. A girly girl with large doe-like eyes the color of chocolate and just as inviting.  Her long wavy hair was fun for me to play with and I spent hours dressing and painting her fingers and toes.  She was my own living doll.  She was an amiable, yet a spunky child.

As Hanah grew up, and our family dynamic changed, she remained the epitome of a gracious, young lady.  Being a caretaker to her siblings came naturally to her and it was evident she was wise beyond her years.  The older she got the more I found myself asking  her view on things.  She had no problem sharing with me the way she saw our world and again, Hanah was my teacher.

At 22, she not only works two jobs but has two degrees.  She continues to grow and learn and also teach others.  If you’ve had the chance to meet her, you know the moment she smiles,  you catch a glimpse of her golden heart.

Some say she is my mini-me, but I could never reduce her to such.  She is my heroine.   She is strong and smart and beautiful and every kind of amazing.

And I am lucky enough to be able to love her to the moon and back!

Happy Birthday, Sissy!!!

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Assembling My Tribe

March’s Full Moon was termed The Worm Moon by Native Americans because with the warm weather came the appearance of worm casings above the softening ground.

On a balmy evening the night of March 23rd nearly 40 women from all over Ventura County gathered under a starlit sky for another Women’s Full Moon Hike.

The feedback I received from last month’s was the perfect blend of positive and motivational-exactly what I needed.  In lieu of feeling anxious, like I did in my post here, this time I felt empowered.  This month, I felt a little more  Gandalf -like, leading the women up the hillsides of Ventura.

March’s group was twice as large as our group in February.  I saw several familiar faces and even more new ones.  This time some of the ladies came early to picnic.  We had another adventure trying to locate the elusive moon, but cheered in unison as it made it’s appearance just as we were leaving.  I was overwhelmed with euphoria the entire night.

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Studies show spending time with friends has a larger impact on our physical and emotional well-being than spending time with family.

When I was married to husband #1 (at the ripe old age of 22), I didn’t take much time out for me – let a lone my friends.  I completely threw myself in to the role of wife and mother for eight years.  I naively thought I didn’t need anyone else in my life, but my little family.  In retrospect, there are memories of feeling isolated and even a bit depressed.  If I could share some words of wisdom to 20-something year old me, it would be to maintain some level of independence and connect with other mothers, wives, sisters on a regular basis.

I believe when women continue to come together in a safe place – an immeasurable bond is created.  A sisterhood.  The benefits of female friendship are endless.

I am proud to say, I have found my safe haven, under the moon and within my tribe of these magnificent women that gather with me.

Our next hike is Friday, April 22.

 

 

Happy World Poetry Day

Here is a little-known poem by my favorite author, F. Scott Fitzgerald.

ON A PLAY TWICE SEEN

ERE in the figured dark I watch once more;

There with the curtain rolls a year away,

A year of years — There was an idle day

Of ours, when happy endings didn’t bore

Our unfermented souls, and rocks held ore:

Your little face beside me, wide-eyed, gay,

Smiled its own repertoire, while the poor play

Reached me as a faint ripple reaches shore. Yawning and wondering an evening through

I watch alone — and chatterings of course

Spoil the one scene which somehow did have charms;You wept a bit, and I grew sad for you

Right there, where Mr. X defends divorce

And What’s-Her-Name falls fainting in his arms.

DON’T SWEAT the small stuff

Last week, I read this blog post about childhood worries.  Afterward, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own adolescent anguishes.  Some of them were inspired by bad 80’s television, others by playground chatter, and the rest were made-up scenarios in my head.

I was one of those kids who spent more time worrying than playing.  I worried about things that had already happened (my mom forgetting to pick me up after school), things that could happen (nuclear war) and things that were more than likely never going to happen (stumbling into a pit of quicksand).

At the age of ten, I watched a Made for TV movie about breast cancer.  Coincidentally, I had been experiencing some pain and swelling in my chest.  With that said, I convinced myself, like the protagonist, that I, too was suffering from breast cancer.

I worried for weeks.  I couldn’t sleep, I cried off and on, but was too embarrassed/scared to go to anyone with my concerns.  Finally, one afternoon my mother caught me crying.  In between sobs, I broke the news to her that I probably wouldn’t be making it to my 11th birthday.  She explained (albeit giggles), I was going to be fine and that the “symptoms” I had experienced were simply signs, that it was time for a training bra (Ugh!  If only I had read Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret one year earlier).

After recalling that lovely childhood memory, I couldn’t help but wonder how my own children dealt with worry.  I reminded myself to give them each some guidance on the issue.  I had come a long way from the Worry Wort I once had been.  Perhaps by sharing this with the kids, it would save them from some of the pangs I endured in my youth.

And just like that – It was if the Parental Gods had read my mind! The following morning, R and I were getting in the car when he gently shoved his iPad in my hand.  He looked up at me, his brown eyes searching my face for a reaction.   I was shocked to see a huge crack across the screen.  “Oh, buddy! What happened?!” I asked, admittedly in more of a Peg Bundy than Carol Brady “concerned mom” voice.  Before he could muster an explanation, I took a few deep breaths and told him it didn’t matter and it could be fixed.

But he was unusually  quiet on the ride to school.  I asked him if he was worried about the iPad.  He nodded his head in agreement and told me he was really worried about his dad’s reaction.  I reassured him again that the iPad was fixable.  I took it a bit further and shared my recently-found philosophy.

“I try not to worry.  But it does take a lot of effort on my part.  I remind myself that the only things in life worth worrying about are those things that we have no control over-like the health and safety of our loved ones.  As long as my friends and family are healthy, all is good in my world.”

R seemed to be listening attentively.  But who knows if he actually “got” the point I was trying to make.  I am confident, he will see my example and learn from it.

With that being said, I am a work in progress.  Once in awhile, I slip back into old habits.  To remedy those moments, I find connecting with a good friend and also some deep breathing/meditation exercises do wonders for putting things back into perspective.

How do you manage stress?